


My Dreams Are Not As Empty (As My Conscience Seems To Be)

by Ithiel_Dragon



Series: Blessed Are The Peacemakers [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 4: Saint Denis (Red Dead Redemption 2), Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-26 04:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16674415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiel_Dragon/pseuds/Ithiel_Dragon
Summary: Arthur does his best to give up his feelings for John.  The man has a FAMILY after all, and there's no place for him in it.  But every man has a breaking point.





	1. Chapter 1

Jack was safe. 

Thank god. 

Arthur didn’t even want to imagine what might have happened had it been otherwise.  They’d all been through hell these last couple months. They’d already lost Jenny, Davey, Mac, and Sean… That was bad enough.  But if anything had happened to that boy… It would have destroyed every last one of them.

Especially Abigail and John. 

Arthur rode behind Dutch, John and Jack, guarding their rear, and making sure they weren’t being followed back to camp.  From this position he could also keep an eye on John and his son. Well, if nothing else, all this seemed to have knocked some sense into Marston.  Finally having accepted that Jack was his son. About time.

Thankfully it hadn’t taken the ultimate tragedy for Marston to finally pull his head out of his ass about the whole thing.  He’d never seen John like that before, and he hoped never to see it again. They’d been lucky. Damned lucky. He hoped John would never know the pain of losing a child.  Arthur knew that pain well, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Even his worst enemy.

But all of this just showed how _bad_ things had gotten lately.  They’d been _lucky_ tonight but they couldn’t keep doing this.  They couldn’t keep risking so much for so little.  It could have so easily gone a different way. They couldn’t let something like this happen again.  They just… couldn't. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing was.

Arthur hung back when they made it into camp. His throat going a little tight as he watched the reunion between Abigail and her son.  He accepted her thanks graciously and lit a cigarette to hide his own emotions. John hung back as well. Away from Abigail and Jack, and after everything that had happened, that just seemed… wrong.  But then again, one couldn’t expect things to change overnight. John hadn’t exactly been all that good to Abigail and Jack these last several years. John’s refusal to call Jack his son had been a major wedge between them.  It would take time to heal that damage… but they would manage. For some reason Abigail still loved that dumb bastard, despite all his faults…

Arthur could sympathize.

Hell, things hadn’t been all that great between him and John for a long time.  But they were starting to get a bit better since they’d talked. He thought so anyway… Arthur wasn’t all that sure, to be honest. Sometimes things seemed better.  Other times worse. There seemed to be less anger between them than before, but what had replaced it… Arthur couldn’t quite define. Sometimes Arthur wondered if he preferred the anger...

“John, go be with your family,” had been Dutch’s parting words before leaving him and John standing alone in the dark. It might have been the first time since Arthur had recovered that they’d been alone together.  Well, when they weren’t on a job and had bullets flying over their heads, that was.

“Thank you, Arthur.  I…” John finally broke the tense silence between them.  Arthur merely nodded, concentrating on smoking his cigarette and avoiding John’s eyes. 

John cleared his throat.

“I don’t know how to say it.  Just… Thank you,” John went on. 

“I understand,” Arthur finally said, and he hoped John understood as well.  He would always be there for John when he needed him most. They’d been friends once.  Still were, to some degree. No matter what, that would never change.

He fully expected John to walk away then, but the younger man lingered, looking at Arthur in a way that made him shift uncomfortably.  Made his stomach clench and his heart ache with longing. He couldn’t go through this… not again… they’d agreed. It was done… So Arthur started to walk away instead.  Only for John to reach out and grasp his arm hesitantly.

“Arthur…wait...” John whispered, and Arthur shook his head.  Blowing smoke out through his nose before tossing down his half finished cigarette and stomping it beneath his boot.

“Come on.  Do as Dutch says.  Go be with your family,” Arthur said, not unkindly, but it still made John flinch slightly.  Arthur pulled out of John’s hold and forced himself to walk away. Putting as much distance between himself and Marston as he could. 

Everyone else was celebrating.  As they rightly should. There’d been too much pain and sorrow hanging over them like a dark cloud recently.  They could all use a break from it. Arthur didn’t feel much up to joining in the festivities however. He lingered along the fringe for a short while.  Accepted a bottle of whiskey and drank a good portion of it before he decided he’d had enough of company for one night.

So he made his way into the decrepit old plantation house.  It was barely still standing, slowly being reclaimed by the swamp around it, but one luxury remained.  A big claw foot tub tucked away in one of the rooms. Definitely a luxury for them, as they usually had to settle for cold dunks in a nearby river or pond, or washed themselves out of a bucket in camp.  Unless of course they were lucky enough to be near a hotel that offered hot baths and were willing to pay for it.

Any other night, Arthur might have asked one of the camp women to help him heat the water for the bath.  But he didn’t want to interrupt their festivities. He could handle making a bath for himself if he wanted one that badly.  He could definitely _use_ one, that’s for sure. He still had blood on him from when they were ambushed in Rhodes by the Grey’s, and his hair still smelled of smoke from burning down the Braithwaite mansion.  Not to mention mucking around in the swamp, and then in a damned graveyard. It had certainly been an interesting few days.

Heating the water and filling the tub bucket by bucket was always a lot of trouble and seemed to take forever.  But he knew it would be worth it in the end. Eventually he stripped off his clothes and left them in a pile on the floor before climbing in the tub.  The water might have been a little too hot for some, but it was just the way he liked it. He sighed in relief as it immediately began to sooth the various aches in his body.  He let his head fall back against the rim of the tub and closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there.  Barely moving to wash some of the grime from his hair and beard (he could really use a shave) when there was a tentative knock outside the door.  Arthur grumbled under his breath, he just wanted a few minutes of peace, damn it.  Was it really too much to ask?

“What?” he snapped. 

He heard someone shifting from foot to foot on the other side of the door, the creak of the floorboards while they hesitated.  Then a moment later the door swung open.

“What the fuck-!” Arthur began, but any further outrage died in his throat when Marston quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind him.  Arthur froze like a spooked deer.

“Arthur…” John began, taking a step towards the bath.  That seemed to break Arthur from his momentary paralysis.  

“What the fuck are you doing, Marston?  Get out!”

“I need to talk to you,” John replied, not budging. 

“That couldn’t wait till I was out of the damned _bath_?! How about you go talk with your _family_ instead,” Arthur growled, and John had the good grace to look a little ashamed… even as his eyes roamed down the length of Arthur’s bare chest.  Arthur barely resisted the urge to cover himself.

“They’re asleep…” John murmured. 

“Why aren’t you _with_ them then,” Arthur was quickly losing his patience, and he didn’t have that much to begin with. 

John’s eyes snapped up to meet his own, and the younger man finally seemed to realize the dangerous ground he was walking. 

“Because I want to be here,” John replied, and Arthur felt like the rug had been yanked out from under him, “Arthur please… I can’t keep doing this… I can’t keep pretending there’s nothing between us.”

“There ain’t nothing! It was a stupid mistake.  We agreed-”

“I don’t believe that, and neither do you!” John snapped back, sounding angry now.  Angry and hurting.

“You’ve got a god damned wife and son, Marston!”

“I’ve got a _son_ , yes.  I know!” John replied, running his hands through his hair in frustration.  He looked into Arthur’s eyes, almost pleading, “But Abigail and I… It’s not the same.  It’s never been the same… as I feel for you, Arthur.”

Arthur felt frozen in place.  He had no idea how to respond to that confession.  A part of him wanted to deny it. Because what did it matter?  Mary… she had cared for him too. But that hadn’t been enough. She’d still left him.  So had John. Because he’d been _afraid_ of him.  He wasn’t a good man.  He’d never be a good man.  John wasn’t much of a good man either… but he could be.  Maybe he’d even have the chance to be, once all of this was over.  With Abigail and Jack. But not… with Arthur… and Arthur couldn’t handle another person leaving him because he wasn’t good enough.  He just… couldn’t.

Arthur shook his head.

“Get out.”

“Arthur, please…”

“I said GET-” Arthur started to shout, but he was cut off when John quickly closed the distance between them and kissed him. His lips hard and demanding, but the hands cradling his face were gentle.  The tongue that forced its way into his mouth pulled a lewd moan from Arthur as John seemed to pour everything he had into the kiss. As though trying to _show_ him... Arthur supposed he couldn't blame him.  Neither of them had ever been very good with words. 

Arthur’s hands found their way onto John’s shoulders, his initial impulse was to push the younger man away, but instead he drew him in closer.  John, idiot that he was, overbalanced and all but fell into the tub on top of him. Still fully clothed, and causing a good amount of water to spill over the edge onto the floor. 

"I'm not cleaning that up," Arthur murmured, catching John's lower lip between his teeth, causing the younger man to moan.

"Fine, just... please, Arthur..." John whispered against his mouth, already sounding breathless from so little. 

Arthur, always weak when it came to John, kissed him.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur’s kisses were like taking a shot of really strong moonshine.  Burning his lips almost painfully, but filling his belly with the best kind of heat.  John licked at the seam of Arthur’s lips, and groaned softly as they parted to allow him inside.  Arthur tasted like whiskey, smoke, and something else even more addicting. Something unique to the man himself, that John hadn’t forgotten even after all these years. 

He was so tired of lying to himself.  Tired of pretending. These last few months, everything that had happened since Blackwater, had only made John realize what a complete fool he’d been. 

When he was on that mountain, freezing to death with his face on fire, all he could think about was all the regrets he had.  All the mistakes he’d made he wished he could undo. All the wrong he’d done to people he cared about… and Arthur Morgan had been at the top of that list.  John had vowed if he made it out of that mess alive, he’d try to do better. Try to right some of those wrongs. Imagine his surprise when it was none other than Arthur himself who showed up to rescue him.  Like a hero right out of some damned storybook, though John sure as hell weren’t no blushing maiden. Even if Arthur sometimes made him feel like one.

Kind of like now... the way Arthur’s hands slid up underneath his wet shirt, caressing his back with firm fingers.  As they traced along old scars and dug new bruises into his muscles and John arched into the touch, breaking their kiss to gasp Arthur’s name.  Arthur took the opportunity to mouth along his jaw and down the side of his throat. Sucking and biting more bruises into his skin that would be damned difficult to hide come morning, but right now John didn’t give a damn.

Not anymore… look where that had gotten him?

Despite his promises to himself, it had been far too easy to fall back into old patterns.  No one could hold a grudge like Arthur Morgan, and the older man had always been far too good knowing exactly how to push him.  Arthur could bring out the best in him… or the worst… One minute he couldn’t help but love the bastard with all his heart, the next he could hate him with his very soul.  It really wasn’t fair just how much power Arthur had over him, and the man didn’t even realize it. Or if he did, he didn’t seem to care…

At least, that’s what John had thought until he’d found that drawing, making John wonder if he’d been wrong.  That maybe Arthur _did_ care… only for the man to crush any hopes he had left by telling him that it had been a mistake.  That they should forget it had ever happened…

 _Just be one thing or the other, not two people at once._  Those had been Arthur’s words of advice to him not so long ago.  He knew Arthur had meant something different at the time, but they still accurately summed up the conflict within John for most of his adult life.  Everyone expected him to be one thing. Dutch, Hosea, hell, even Arthur… when Arthur knew better than any of them that there was another side to John.  A side most would call damaged or diseased. Unnatural. Yet as hard as he tried to deny that part of himself, doing everything he could to banish those feelings, they always resurfaced, again and again. 

Truth was, he never felt more like _himself_ than when he was with Arthur.  Arthur’s hands, touching him, making his skin burn with need.  Arthur’s mouth, teeth, biting marks of ownership along his flesh.  He never needed to pretend when they were together like this. How could it be so wrong… a _mistake_ , as Arthur had called it… when it was one of the only things in John’s life that felt _right_?

When Jack had been taken, a rage John had rarely felt had filled him.  If Arthur hadn’t been there, every step of the way, grounding him, he… he didn’t know if he could have made it through all that.  Chances were he probably would have done something stupid, reckless, or both, which would have gotten him killed. Or worse, Jack… But Arthur _had_ been there.  He was always there when John needed him the most, and he knew… he couldn’t let go of that.  Despite what everyone else thought he should be. Even as a part of him still felt guilty for being here… This was where he wanted to be.  This was where he _needed_ to be. 

John’s fingers shook as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, finally giving up undoing them entirely and simply ripping the sodden garment off over his head instead.  It landed with a splat on the already soaked floor, but neither of them paid it any mind. John was far too distracted by Arthur taking full advantage of his newly exposed skin to drive him insane.  His mouth catching on one of John’s nipples, teasing the sensitive flesh to hardness with playful licks and not so playful bites. John practically swooned, catching the rim of the tub for support.

“Arthur… Christ…” John moaned.  Arthur looked up at him through the fall of his wet hair.  His green eyes were always startlingly intense, but never more so than when they were filled with anger… or lust. 

“You always make the prettiest sounds, Marston,” Arthur practically purred.  His hands sliding down the back of John’s pants to squeeze his ass firmly. Pulling another whimpering moan from John’s lips as though to prove his point.  John felt himself flush from the tips of his ears all the way down his chest. Arthur hummed in approval.

Then, to John’s surprise, Arthur released him entirely and leaned back against the edge of the tub.

“Grab the soap,” he ordered, and John could only blink at the other man stupidly.  Still reeling from the loss of contact.

“What?” John managed, only for Arthur to roll his eyes a little in response.

“You interrupted my bath, in case you forgot.  Least you can do is make yourself useful. Grab the soap,” Arthur repeated.  John did as he was told, but when he offered it to the other man, Arthur merely looked at him like he was an idiot.

John eventually understood and wanted to kick himself.  He blamed his idiocy on all his blood having traveled south from his brain to his cock.  Arthur merely chuckled affectionately. Made him feel a little better at least, even though John was still blushing like a fool.

As he lathered the soap carefully between his hands John’s eyes couldn’t help but roam down the length of Arthur’s bare chest.  The man really was too good looking for words. Arthur knew it too, but he wasn’t smug about it… most of the time.

His shoulders were broader than John’s and thickly muscled.  His chest and abs well defined, and covered with a light coating of honey gold hair. He had scars, of course.  As did they all, new and old. Many of which John knew the exact stories of. The hardships of Arthur’s life was written into his skin like he wrote in those damned journals. The newest one on his shoulder, received only a couple weeks prior, courtesy of the O’driscolls, was still red and angry looking.  John gently ran his fingers along the edge of the raw looking skin. The wound had come so close to killing Arthur...

He was going to pay Colm back for that… a hundred fold…

John felt the gentle squeeze of Arthur’s hand on his hip, bringing him out of his darker thoughts, and he lifted his eyes from the wound to the older man’s eyes.  Arthur’s expression was full of understanding, and something more. Something that made a sweet syrupy heat fill his stomach like warm molasses. He could feel the shift of Arthur’s thighs between his own where he straddled the man’s waist, and John suddenly hated the fact that he was still wearing his soaked trousers.  The wet material an uncomfortable barrier between them. His hands shifted to unbutton them, but Arthur caught his wrists before he could manage, and John cursed softly. A faint smirk pulled at the corners of Arthur’s lips.

The man was a god damned tease.  Well, two could play at that game, John decided. 

John twisted his hands out of the older man’s loose hold, then moved them to Arthur’s shoulders instead. Slowly and carefully he began to massage the soap suds into his skin.  He knew he was having the effect he wanted, when a low moan escaped Arthur’s parted lips and he felt the tense muscles under his hands begin to relax.

He took his time.  Made sure not to miss an inch as he worked carefully down Arthur’s arm all the way to his hand.  He washed carefully between each and every finger, before rinsing it off and setting it gently back to rest on the rim of the tub.  Arthur watched him intently through hooded eyes as John moved from one arm to the other, and then began to work on his chest.

John bit his lip to keep from grinning like a fool when he heard and felt a low impatient growl begin in Arthur’s chest.  He pretended not to notice though, moving his soapy hands in slow circles around the strong pectoral muscles, and only briefly giving the sensitive nipples a teasing pinch, before moving on.  His hands dipped lower, tracing along Arthur’s ribs and down his stomach, eventually slipping underneath the water to wash around Arthur’s belly and hips.

“John…” Arthur whispered, reaching for him.  But John quickly shifted out of his hold and continued on with his task.  He washed the outside of Arthur’s thigh, past his knee, and all the way down.  He lifted one foot out of the water so he could pay special attention to cleaning between his toes. 

Arthur watched him carefully.  Probably wondering if John was going to try tickling him or not.  While the idea was tempting, for now he simply dug his thumbs into the arch of Arthur’s foot in a gentle massage, causing the older man’s head to drop back against the rim of the tub with a moan.  By the time John repeated the process with Arthur’s other leg, the older man was definitely relaxed and breathing heavier.

“You seem pretty clean now.  Anywhere else you need me to wash?” John finally said.  Making a show of sliding his hands up Arthur’s inner thighs but pulling back just before they reached Arthur’s groin.  So he really wasn’t surprised when Arthur suddenly grabbed him by a handful of hair and crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. 

“Cheeky bastard,” Arthur grumbled, as John laughed, then moaned around the tongue that invaded his mouth, kissing him breathless.  But John didn’t have much time to enjoy it before Arthur was pushing him back and standing up. He definitely made a sight, all that gorgeous golden skin on display dripping wet with water and very aroused.

“Get up,” Arthur ordered, tugging John along impatiently.  John barely managed to get out of the tub without tripping and landing on the wet floor in an undignified heap.  Miss Grimshaw was going to be pissed, but Arthur certainly didn’t seem to care as he all but dragged John to his bed room.  Thankfully everyone was still too busy still drinking and celebrating outside, and was no one around to see them. John wasn’t sure he would have cared if there was. 

As soon as the door shut behind them, Arthur was on him again.  Kissing him deep and long as his hands moved with purpose over John’s body.  His pants were quickly undone and pushed down his thighs, left in a forgotten puddle on the floor.  Arthur pushed John towards his cot and John went willingly. Laying back and spreading his thighs invitingly. 

Arthur paused for a moment to admire him like a feast laid out before him.  His eyes hungrily roaming over John’s body before his hands did the same. Sliding over his stomach and down his thighs.  Reaching under to squeeze his ass firmly, spreading his cheeks, and making John moan wantonly, feeling completely exposed under Arthur’s gaze. 

“You want this?” Arthur asked softly, his thumb gently circling around the rim of his anus. 

“Fuck, yes,” John answered breathlessly, without hesitation.  Arthur hummed in approval and kissed the inside of his knee gently.  He left John for a moment to rummage around in his satchel, and John’s heart skipped a beat when the older man returned with a very familiar looking tin.  Arthur knelt between his legs and let his hand caress along John’s inner thigh.

“You ever done this before?” he asked softly, opening the tin and coating his fingers.  John watched with rapt attention.

“Yeah…” John admitted, swallowing a little nervously despite how much he wanted this, “Not for… a while though.”

Arthur nodded slightly, watching him like a hawk. 

“We’ll go slow, just relax,” Arthur soothed, teasing around his hole with gentle slick fingers. 

“I ain’t made of glass,” John repeated Arthur’s words from so many years back at him.  Arthur paused for a moment, then merely chuckled, and shook his head slightly.

“Impatient brat.  I know you ain’t. Just let me enjoy this,” Arthur said before finally pushing one slick finger deep inside him.  The burning ache that filled John was a familiar one, one that made him tense involuntarily, even though there was surprisingly little pain.  Just a deep fullness as Arthur twisted his finger around, coating him inside, and then began a gentle in and out thrusting motion. Arthur’s other hand rubbed along his hip, soothing.

“Relax,” Arthur ordered, sliding his hand up to caress through the dark hair at the base of John’s cock, without actually touching it. John groaned softly, lifting his hips, seeking more friction.  But Arthur, bastard that he was, merely pressed down on the junction of his thigh to keep him still as his finger continued to move in and out of him, circling gently to open him up.

“You’re a goddamn tease, Arthur Morgan,” John hissed between his teeth, earning a warm chuckle from the older man. 

“You look nice like this,” Arthur praised, making John flush unexpectedly all the way down his chest, “Yeah, just like that.  All hot and bothered, aching and begging for it. I’d love to get some paper and draw you just like this.”

John whimpered, his lip catching between his teeth and his hips bucked against his will.  But Arthur was more than strong enough to keep him pinned to the bed. Even when Arthur crooked his finger inside of him, touching John in a way that made fireworks explode behind his eyes. 

“Fuck!” John gasped sharply, shuddering as Arthur rubbed insistently against that sensitive place. 

“That’s right, Johnny boy.  Knew you’d like that. Bet I could make you come just from this if I wanted to,” Arthur purred. 

“God… Arthur… please…” John panted, his thighs shaking. 

Arthur pushed a second finger inside him.  Scissoring gently and using both to continue to tease that spot, and John felt like he might die.  It wasn’t enough to push him over the edge, but it was enough to make his cock ache and leak precum steadily, creating an absolute mess of his stomach.

“Shit…” Arthur cursed, and John couldn’t help but grin smugly.  Knowing Arthur was becoming just as undone by all this was a heady sensation.  Arthur responded by pushing a third finger deep inside him. The feeling just on the good edge of pain, and John groaned.  His head falling back and his lips parting as he gasped for breath.

He felt Arthur’s mouth on the inside of his thigh, his stomach, his chest, carefully working his way up.  John wrapped his arms around Arthur’s broad shoulders as he was kissed. The tongue delving into his mouth in a lewd motion that almost matched the fingers working deep inside him made him groan in need. 

“Arthur… want you…” John whimpered, clenching around Arthur’s fingers.  Arthur all but growled against his lips.

“You’ve got me,” he whispered, quickly pulling out his fingers and replacing them with his cock.

John’s breath hitched.  The burning ache much more intense as Arthur’s thick cock slid home inside of him.  His fingers dug into the muscles of Arthur’s back, and the older man groaned.

“Easy… just relax…” Arthur soothed, stilling once he was fully inside of him, giving John plenty of time to adjust.  John let out a long shuddering breath.

“I’m good… please, Arthur…” John begged, hitching his leg around the back of Arthur’s thigh to encourage him to move.  Arthur grunted softly, beginning with little shallow rolls of his hips that rubbed the head of his cock back and forth along that sweet spot inside John.  John bit his lip hard enough to taste copper. Doing his best not to shout and alert the whole damned gang to what they were doing.

“You doing good?” Arthur asked, his voice sounding as shaky as John felt.  John nodded, not trusting his voice and Arthur grinned, “Good.”

Arthur’s next thrust was harder and deeper, practically punching the air out of John’s lungs. 

“You might want to bite that pillow,” Arthur suggested, and John wisely took his advice as the older man proceeded to fuck him within an inch of his life. 

And it was good.  So damned good.

John found himself practically clawing at Arthur’s back with a particularly hard thrust, and he had the feeling the scratches had drawn blood by the way Arthur winced slightly.  But Arthur didn’t tell him to stop, and neither did John. Every thrust pushed John closer and closer to the edge, and he had a feeling Arthur might be right. He might be able to come just from this alone, even though he’d never even come close before.  But because it was Arthur, it was different.

It had always been different with Arthur…

“Arthur… I…” John whispered, but any further words were stolen from his throat in a choked shout as Arthur’s slick fingers finally closed around his cock.  Stroking him in time with his thrusts, and John finally came with a broken shout. Covering his stomach and Arthur’s hand with thick cum as the older man milked him dry, until he was shaking and whimpering.

“John…” Arthur grunted, his face twisting almost in pain before he froze and emptied himself deep inside of John. 

Eventually Arthur gently pulled out and started wiping both of them down with a spare rag.

“What a gentleman,” John murmured sleepily, feeling too boneless to even move.  Eventually Arthur snorted softly and tossed the soiled rag at his face, making John squawk with indignation, “I take it all back, you’re a bastard.”

“Whatever.  Move over, jackass, unless you want to sleep on the floor,” Arthur grumbled in his usual gruff way, but that didn’t stop John’s heart from fluttering like a fool realizing the other man wasn’t intending on kicking him out now that they were done.  John turned onto his side in the small cot, and Arthur spooned up behind him, throwing an arm around his waist.

He felt Arthur’s lips brush along his shoulder, and John let out a small sigh of contentment. 

“You’re still cleaning up the mess in the tub in the morning,” Arthur murmured into the shell of his ear.

Bastard.  


	3. Chapter 3

John woke alone in a bed that wasn’t his own. 

The latter didn’t really bother him.  Having grown up as a member of the Van der Linde gang since he was twelve, he’d long gotten used to waking up in strange places.  Whether it was a new town, a new campsite, or even out in the open under the stars. He’d never been too picky about where he fell asleep. 

The former though, that caused him a small amount of alarm.  Because even still half asleep he knew that he _shouldn’t_ be alone right now.  The room still smelled like sex, and his body ached in a way that proved what had happened last night hadn’t been a dream.  But he was missing the heavy but comforting weight that had been pressed against his back for most of the night. A pleasant warmth beside him.  Now he felt cold, and his heart ached a little at the loss.

Arthur…

Should he really be surprised?  After all, payback was a bitch. Could he really blame Arthur for doing the exact same thing to him that John had done years ago?  John buried his face in the pillow that still smelled like Arthur and groaned softly. Stupid… stupid…

Before he could wallow too deeply in his own self pity, however, he heard someone cough and clear their throat nearby. That was followed by the familiar sound of graphite scratching against paper.  John turned around and lifted his head in surprise.

Arthur sat on an overturned crate with his back against the wall.  He was mostly clothed. Wearing a pair of trousers and a shirt, but the latter had been left unbuttoned and his feet were bare, propped up on another smaller crate.  As though he’d started getting dressed but then abandoned the task midway. His journal was open in his lap and his hand moved lazily across the paper. He wasn’t so engrossed not to know he was being watched, however, and soon Arthur lifted his eyes from the book to look at John.

“Why do you look so surprised?” Arthur asked gruffly. 

“I… I dunno.  I thought…” John trailed off when Arthur raised an eyebrow.  He felt suddenly self conscious and a little ashamed. Of course Arthur wouldn’t just leave.  Arthur wasn’t like that, “Nothing. Never mind.”

Arthur grunted, sounding a little annoyed, but he didn’t pry further.  He’d probably already guessed what John had been thinking anyway. The scratching sounds against paper started up again. 

“What are you doing, anyway?” John asked, even though he could probably guess.  It made a spot of warmth blossom in his chest and a smile tug at his lips. Arthur glanced up at him briefly again and frowned. 

“Writing.  What does it look like?” he all but snapped, sounding annoyed, which was pretty much Arthur’s default setting, but it only made John’s grin grow.  Because if he didn’t know better, Arthur looked… embarrassed. Not to mention the way Arthur’s hand moved across the paper told John he definitely wasn’t writing. 

“That so?” John asked, teasing.  Pushing himself up on his elbows, trying to get a look over the edge of the paper and prove his suspicions.  Arthur grumbled under his breath and tilted the book away from him.

“Quit squirming,” Arthur ordered, and John outright laughed.

“What does it matter what I do, if you’re only writing?” John teased again and received a glare that might have worried a lesser man.  But he’d known Arthur for too long for it to really be effective. Especially when he could see the corner of the older man’s lips twitching as Arthur fought a smile. 

John relented anyway, reclining on the cot with his head propped on his hand, just watching Arthur draw for the moment.  Enjoying the quiet and privacy before they would be forced to part again. Who knew when they might get another opportunity to be together like this? 

Would there even be another opportunity?

John chewed on his lip, worrying the new scar there, before speaking again. 

“Can I ask something, Arthur?”

Arthur hummed softly, but didn’t look up from his book.  John figured that was as good an agreement as he was going to get. 

“Does Dutch… know?  About you…?” John asked, not really sure how to phrase what he wanted to ask without the risk of pissing Arthur off. 

Arthur snorted.

“Does Dutch know _what_ about me?  That occasionally I enjoy a good dick up the ass?” Arthur asked blandly.  John felt his ears burn a little from Arthur’s bluntness. It wasn’t often he heard Arthur talk that way, he was usually a little less… well, crude.  At least he didn’t sound upset.

“Uh… yeah… that…” John said, laughing a little. 

Arthur sighed softly, and scratched at his jaw.  He could really use a shave, he was beginning to look a little like a wild man. 

“Sort of,” Arthur finally answered, and that just made John frown in confusion.

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“I mean… I told him.  Years ago. Long before you joined the gang.  Well… I didn’t _tell_ him per say.  I was asking Hosea about it, and Dutch overheard.  He wasn’t mad or anything. Said it was just a phase and I’d grow out of it,” Arthur snorted softly at that, “Then he took me to a brothel and bought me the most expensive whore there.  Since I didn’t bring it up after that, I guess he thought I was ‘cured’.”

John could only blink at the other man. 

“That’s… I don’t even know…” he finally said. 

Arthur laughed. 

“It weren’t so bad.  I like women well enough too, and she gave me a good time.  It just seemed… easier… to let Dutch think what he wanted,” Arthur explained.  John nodded slightly. He could understand that well enough.

“So… what do you think he’d think… about us?” John finally asked.  Arthur’s hand stopped moving across the page and he sighed heavily.  This time shutting the journal and looking at John fully.

“I don’t know.  Dutch is tolerant of a lot of people who are ‘different’ and most folks would look down on.  I’d be more worried about some of the others. Bill and Micah for instance…” Arthur said, and John winced a little. 

Arthur was right.  Even if Dutch accepted them, the rest of the gang would probably be less… forgiving.  He’d been called a ‘cock sucker’ enough times in the past as an insult, and that was even before they knew he actually _enjoyed_ it.  Though the person John was probably most worried about finding out was Abigail.  He’d never meant to hurt her, but it seems like that was all he did these days.

“Where are you going with this, John?” Arthur finally asked, eyeing him critically. 

“I…” John began, but one look at Arthur told him all he needed to know, “Nowhere… I ain’t going nowhere with it.”

“Good.  Keep it that way.  You’ve got a wife and son, and we’ve got enough problems as it is.  You got an itch you need scratching sometime, I’m happy to oblige. But don’t make this into something it’s not, Marston,” Arthur said firmly.  John barely hid a wince.

“Right.  Sorry,” John said softly, looking away.  Just an itch to scratch… he wasn’t sure why he’d expected any different.  Arthur remained silent but he could feel his eyes on him. After a while, he heard the older man sigh and then Arthur tossed a pair of trousers at his head.  Thankfully they were clean and dry at least.

“Those should fit your skinny ass,” Arthur said and John took that as his cue he should probably leave.  The trousers, of course, were Arthur’s, and a little big, but they fit well enough. They’d do until he could get back to his own tent for his own clothes.  He should feel lucky he didn’t need to walk out in wet pants or bare assed.

John sat on the edge of the bed once he was dressed, hesitating for a reason he couldn’t quite explain.  Arthur had made his feelings on the matter quite clear. John would do neither of them any favors by making things awkward… making this into something it wasn’t…

Even though a part of him wanted to tell Arthur he was wrong.  That Arthur wasn’t just an ‘itch’ to him. John had never been one for fucking just for fucking.  If he needed a release that badly, his own hand worked just fine. In fact, once he and Abigail were ‘together’ he hadn’t slept with anyone else… except for Arthur.  He’d thought he’d made his feelings for the older man clear last night… but maybe he’d screwed up. Or maybe Arthur just didn’t feel the same way…

“I guess I better go clean up that mess before Miss Grimshaw sees it,” John offered, and Arthur hummed in agreement.  With a sigh John stood and made his way to the door, “See you later, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t even look at him as he left.

 

* * *

 

The door shut with a soft click and John was gone.  Arthur sighed heavily and slumped against the wall, feeling far older than his thirty six years. 

What the hell was he doing?

This thing with John… it wasn’t good.  For either of them. There was already too much tension in the gang as it was.  If this got out… Dutch may... or may not... care personally. Might not think any different of them.  But Arthur knew some of the others would. Any respect Arthur had managed to gain over the years would be severely damaged at best, at worst…

Dutch couldn’t simply ignore that.  He might even be forced to cut him and John loose, no matter his personal feelings.  Arthur couldn’t let that happen. He’d worked too damned hard…

And, of course, there was always the matter of Abigail and Jack…

Arthur rubbed at his eyes tiredly. 

They’d been stupid.  Him and John both. Stupid and reckless.  This… thing… between them. Whatever it may be.  It couldn’t… they couldn’t… It was wrong. No matter how good it had felt to wake up with John in his arms… that kind of good could never last.  It always went badly in the end. The people Arthur cared about always left him, one way or another. Either they left on their own accord, or… they were taken away. Always. Sometimes Arthur thought it was the price he was forced to pay due to the life he led.

He wasn’t the kind of man that deserved love...

Arthur looked down at the book in his lap and opened the journal to the page he’d been working on.  The picture had mostly been finished by the time John had woken up. There was a… softness to it that many of his other drawings lacked.  The lines of John’s face relaxed in sleep like they never were awake. His body completely bare, except for the light sheet pooled around his waist… Arthur allowed his fingers to trace lightly over the smooth paper, wishing he was touching warm skin instead.

“You’re a damned fool, Arthur Morgan,” he whispered to himself sadly. 

The gang… it was all Arthur had.  The only constant thing in his life.  He couldn’t risk losing that… and he couldn’t risk losing John… He wasn’t sure which would be worse.  Either one would break him.


	4. Chapter 4

Cleaning up the water from the tub took a lot longer than John expected, and he ended up nearly as soaked as he’d been last night by the time he was finished.  Feeling a little bitter at how Arthur had dismissed him that morning, John almost didn’t do it at all. As ‘revenge’ went, it would have been petty. But John was feeling a little petty right now.  And it would have been amusing to listen to Miss Grimshaw scolding Arthur like a disobedient schoolboy.

In the end he’d decided it wasn’t worth pissing Arthur off over something so small.  Especially when it could lead to Arthur not speaking to him for weeks, and that would have only been a punishment for himself.

Still, John felt grumpy and sore in places he hadn’t been sore for a long time when he finally made it back to his tent.  He’d missed breakfast and his stomach was complaining loudly about it as he stripped off the wet trousers and started searching for a set of relatively clean and dry clothing to put on.  So, needless to say, he was in a right foul mood when Abigail slipped into his tent uninvited. Judging by the expression on her face, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit neither.

“I ain’t in the mood right now,” he warned, turning his back on her as he buttoned up his shirt as quickly as possible.  Though it probably hadn’t been fast enough to hide the various bruises and love bites Arthur had left on him last night.  The way he felt right now, he almost didn’t care if she saw them or not.

Abigail watched him dress silently for several moments before speaking.

“Where were you last night?” Abigail asked, her tone carefully even.  John closed his eyes and sighed loudly.

“None of your business.”

“You’re my husband, ain’t you?  I think I have the right to know,” she replied, still sounding surprisingly calm given she obviously had _some_ idea of what he’d been up to the night before.  John snorted softly and shook his head.

“We ain’t even really married,” he said sharply and saw her flinch out of the corner of his eye.  John felt immediately guilty. That was a low blow, even for him. No matter how true it was.

When Abigail had gotten pregnant, she’d decided she no longer wanted to ‘earn her keep’ as a camp whore. As a new mother, John could certainly understand that.  But they both knew the only way _that_ was going to happen, was if she were a married woman.  At least in the eyes of the gang. He always suspected she only named him as Jack's father (at least at first) because he was one of the least ‘offensive’ options at the time. Or at least, the only one who’d have agreed to marry her.  Which he'd done as soon as he'd returned to the gang after a year... his jaw still bruised and aching from Arthur's pummeling... 

What a damn fool he was...

He'd resented that for a long time, but despite his many faults, he still tried to treat her right.  He never raised a hand to her, and he did his best to provide for her and the boy, despite his doubts about Jack really being his.  Most days he believed she truly cared for him, despite her nagging and calling him out for what an idiot he was, and everyone told him he was lucky to have a woman like Abigail.  They were right. She really _was_ too good for him. He should be happy with what he had. There was no point in wishing for things that could never be...

He scrubbed his hands over his face and finally turned to face her.

“Just… can we not do this right now?  Where’s Jack, anyway?” he asked, an unexpected anxiety at not seeing the boy with his mother filling him.  He wondered if it would always be that way from now on.

“Jack’s fine.  Tilly is watching him… and I think now is as good a time as any to do this,” Abigail replied firmly, not allowing him to change the subject. 

“Abigail…”

“Were you with Arthur?” she asked bluntly and John froze.  His heart began to race in a way it usually only did in the middle of an intense gunfight. 

“What?”

“I’m not a fool, John Marston, so don’t dare treat me like one,” Abigail snapped, suddenly angry.  Her eyes blazed as they stared accusingly into his. But then her expression unexpectedly softened into something more akin to sadness, “And… I ain’t blind… I’ve seen the way you look at him.  Especially when he was hurt… You’ve never… looked at me that way. Even back in the beginning.”

John didn’t know what to say.  He could try to deny it, but what would be the point of that?  He was a terrible liar and they both knew it. After a time she sighed heavily and looked away from him.  He wondered if he disgusted her now…

“I’m sorry…” he eventually managed.  His regret at hurting her genuine.

“I’m not… going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said softly, still not looking at him, “Strangely, I ain’t even that mad.  I... love you, John Marston. I’ll always be grateful to you… and Arthur… for bringing my son back to me. But… I can’t keep doing this. I can’t share you… not like this.”

“I understand,” John replied, staring at the floor.  Unable to look at her in his shame. Silence filled the small space for several painful heartbeats before he heard her approach him.  He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t for her to touch his scarred cheek with gentle fingers. He lifted his head in surprise.

“You gotta make a choice,” Abigail told him, not unkindly, “One or the other.  You can’t have both.” And with that, she left him.

John sat down heavily on his bedroll and buried his face in his hands. 

 

* * *

 

The next couple days were rather quiet.  After the whole fiasco with the Grays and Braithwaites, the pinkertons on their tails, and Jack getting kidnapped, a little peace and quiet was a welcome reprieve.  Any other time, Arthur might have enjoyed it… if it didn’t feel like the calm before the storm.

They’d bought themselves a couple weeks at most by running here.  But they weren’t safe, even in this bug infested swamp. They couldn’t stay here long and they were running out of places to hide.

They never should have robbed Cornwall’s train.  Never should have stirred up trouble in Valentine.  Never should have gotten between that mess with those two hillbilly families.  Arthur wished they’d listened to Hosea and just… laid low. They’d have less money, sure. A lot less.  But maybe they wouldn’t have the pinkertons breathing down their necks now, maybe the O’Driscolls never would have captured and tortured him, Jack never would have been taken… and maybe Sean would still be alive. 

Morale around the camp was low.  The joy of getting Jack back had faded away as the reality of their situation slowly closed in like a noose around their throats.  Of course Dutch pretended this was nothing out of the ordinary. Continued scheming, despite how disastrous their last few attempts had been. 

Arthur was very wary about stirring up trouble in Saint Denis.  Especially after Blackwater. Saint Denis was a much larger city. The potential for a good amount of money was definitely there.  But being such a large city meant more law, and that was the absolute last thing they needed right now. Not to mention having to contend with that Italian asshole, Bronte. 

He’d seemed amicable enough, something about the man just rubbed Arthur the wrong way.  Though he’d returned Jack to them unharmed with very little fuss, Arthur knew a snake when he saw one, and there was no way they could trust Bronte, no matter what Dutch said. 

He wanted to bring his concerns up to Dutch, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears.  Lately any time Arthur questioned anything, Dutch would get defensive. Angry even. Dutch had never steered them wrong in the past, and Arthur had rarely questioned his judgement.  But lately…

He didn’t know what to do anymore.  He’d tried defending Dutch and Hosea to John when the younger man had bought up his own doubts about what they’d been doing.  John just had his son taken, he’d been upset, and rightly so, so Arthur couldn’t blame him. Truth was, he agreed with a lot of what John said, but he couldn’t admit it aloud.  That kind of talk… it would only fracture the gang in two, when they needed to stick together if they wanted to survive this.

Still… Arthur couldn’t believe they were actually going through with this whole ‘party’ thing at the _mayor’s_ home.  Of all places.  Dutch thought it might lead them to the kind of money they needed to finally get out of this mess, but Arthur definitely had his doubts.  Especially when eying the various articles of fancy clothes laid out on his cot like they were a snake ready to bite him. They were going to stick out like sore thumbs where they were going, and that was the absolute _last_ thing they needed right now when they were trying _not_ to get noticed.  

A soft knock on the door to his room drew his attention away from the frilly garments.

“What?”

“Arthur? Can I… come in?” John’s voice on the other side of the door was a bit of a surprise.  The younger man had been in a mood for days now. Barely even looked at him much less spoke. It was too much like the way things had been before, and Arthur didn’t like it.  Not one bit. But instead of seeking John out he angrily gave himself the same “advice” he’d given the younger man after the night they’d spent together.

_Don’t make this something it’s not…_

He figured if John wanted him for something, he’d come to him eventually.  Now wasn’t really the best time, he was supposed to be getting ready, but…

“Sure,” Arthur found himself saying, feeling resigned.  The door swung open not a moment later, and John came in.  He immediately noticed the clothes laid out on the bed and frowned.

“What’s all that?”

“Damned ‘party’ at the mayor’s, remember?”

“I can’t believe Dutch is actually going through with that,” John unknowingly echoed Arthur’s own thoughts, still frowning.  Arthur sighed.

“What do you need, John?” Arthur asked.  John’s expression turned nervous and he glanced away.  Pretending to study the fancy clothes rather than looking at Arthur’s face.

“I… need to talk to you.  But it can wait… I guess…” John said, fiddling with one of the buttons on the dress shirt.  He should probably warn John not to get the clothes dirty, but instead Arthur found himself  imagining those long fingers slowly _unbuttoning_ the shirt after the party… John looked at him through the fall of his hair, “You’re not planning on going like that, are you?”

Arthur blinked, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… your face…” John stated, and Arthur couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“ _My_ face?   _You’re_ one to talk.”

“Well, I ain’t going to a fancy party at the mayor’s house, am I?” John replied, trying to sound offended, but his lips kept twitching up at the corners. 

“What’s wrong with my face then?”

“Nothing…” John replied, drawing out the word much longer than he needed to, “Aside from the fact you haven’t shaved in days and look part grizzly bear.  You’re liable to frighten away the other guests.”

Arthur snorted softly and scratched at his face.  It wasn’t that bad, was it?

John’s eyes suddenly brightened, and Arthur didn’t know whether to be concerned or not.  John getting ideas could either be very good, or bad, depending.

“Come here,” John ordered, grabbing Arthur’s hand and leading him the small distance across the room to his shaving kit, “Sit down.”

“What are you up to?” Arthur asked warily but sat on an overturned crate easily enough. 

“I’m gonna give you a shave.  You never do a decent job yourself,” John replied as he picked up Arthur’s razor and examined it for sharpness.  Arthur laughed again before he could help it.

“Shave me? You want my face to end up looking like yours?” Arthur teased.  Thankfully John had thick skin, and never really got offended by the ribbing he received from the rest of the gang about the new scarring on his face.  Instead he merely rolled his eyes at Arthur.

“I ain’t gonna cut you… unless you keep being an ass…” John threatened and got to work whisking the shaving foam with the brush, “You want me to do this, or not?”

“By all means.  I gotta look pretty for the ball, don’t I?” Arthur replied, still grinning as John started lathering up his face with the brush. 

“Oh, you’re always going to be ugly.  No helping that. But at least the other guests won’t think you’re there to eat them,” John teased back and Arthur chuckled.  John picked up the razor again, “Now hold still.”

John’s expression of concentration was so intense that Arthur almost laughed again, but he knew better with a sharp razor so close to his skin.  He didn’t _actually_ believe John would cut him.  Despite his teasing, he knew John had rock steady hands. Couldn’t shoot the way he did if it were otherwise, and Arthur trusted him completely. 

It was… surprisingly nice.  Having John standing this close, between his legs.  His callused fingers gently guiding his chin this way and that for the perfect angle before swiping the razor over his skin.  John’s eyes were intently focused on his task, but relaxed in a way he wasn’t often. They weren’t usually this close, unless they were fucking.  It was intimate… without the sex… and Arthur found himself liking it a lot more than he probably should.

Arthur found his hands coming up to rest on John’s hips almost of their own accord. Sliding up underneath the loose hem of the younger man’s shirt. John paused for a moment before continuing as though Arthur hadn’t done anything.  Though there was a ghost of a smile on his lips from then on.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Arthur asked softly, his thumbs drawing small circles on the soft skin just above the waistband of John’s trousers.  John shook his head.

“It can wait,” John repeated, sliding the blade carefully over Arthur’s chin. Arthur waited until John lifted the razor away from his skin before speaking again.

“Now you’ve got me curious.”

John’s thumb caressed his cheek. 

“Later.”

The shave didn’t take all that long, much to Arthur’s dismay, and soon John was wiping the last of the foam off his chin with a clean towel.  It was a much closer shave than Arthur usually gave himself, and he could definitely feel the difference when John brushed his fingers over his smooth cheeks. 

“How’s it look?” Arthur asked, and John responded by leaning down and brushing his lips against his.  Arthur shivered slightly feeling John’s stubble rub against his bare skin. That was going to take some getting used to.

“Different.  Kinda nice,” John murmured against his lips before sighing and pulling back, “I better let you get ready…”

Arthur’s fingers tightened on John’s hips before he could step away.  John raised an eyebrow and Arthur responded by drawing him in closer and pushing up the bottom of his shirt.  He leaned forward to press his lips against the soft skin of the younger man’s stomach and John’s breath hitched.  Arthur licked at the skin around his belly button as he fumbled with the button of John’s trousers.

“Dutch is going to kill you if you’re late…” John murmured, but that didn’t stop him from sliding his hands into Arthur’s hair.  Holding him in place as Arthur tugged his pants down to the middle of his thighs.

“Dutch can wait,” Arthur growled, following the trail of dark hair down John’s stomach with his mouth and rubbing his cheek against the younger man’s already half erect cock.  John honest to god whimpered and Arthur grinned. He kissed around the base of the shaft and then licked slowly up the thick vein underneath to the tip. He could already feel John’s thighs beginning to quiver when his mouth closed around the head and his tongue began playing with the slit. 

“God, Arthur…” John moaned, biting his lip and tugging on his hair.  Arthur hummed in pleasure, reaching around to grab John’s ass. He squeezed the firm mounds to encourage John to thrust into his mouth.  As John began to rock his hips in earnest, Arthur relaxed his jaw, taking everything John had to give. He moaned in encouragement when he felt the head of John’s cock pressing at the back of his throat.  Arthur took him down to the root, burying his nose in John’s dark hair and swallowing around him. He felt John’s legs begin to buckle and steadied the younger man.

“Fuck… oh fuck…” John whispered, breathless.  One of his hands slipping down to grasp Arthur’s shoulder for support, while the other remained twisted in his hair.  Alternating between gripping tightly and gently carding through. This wasn't going to take long.

“Arthur… I’m gonna…” the warning was appreciated but not needed.  Arthur moaned around the thick shaft in his mouth and sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks.  John made a sound like he might actually be dying and came down his throat. Arthur continued to support the younger man’s shaking legs while he swallowed everything, and continued sucking until John began to soften, and begged him to stop. 

He let John’s cock slip from his lips almost regretfully, and the younger man all but crumbled into Arthur’s lap.  He was still gasping and shaking all over, and Arthur rubbed his hand soothingly up and down John’s back.

“How you doing, cowboy?” Arthur asked, teasing, and not a little smug.  John whimpered.

“I think you sucked my brains out through my cock,” John finally muttered and Arthur laughed loudly.  He pressed a kiss to the side of John’s temple.

“Good thing you don’t got many brains to lose,” Arthur joked, tickling along John’s ribs just to feel him squirm.  John smacked at him halfheartedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I'm not even sure if I should continue this story, since people don't seem to like it much anymore. Seems to happen on a lot of my fics. I'd really like to know where I went wrong.
> 
> Update: Thank you everyone for the feedback, it's greatly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

It was late.  Past midnight for sure.  Everyone in the camp was sleeping aside from Charles and Javier on patrol.  Dutch and the others should be returning from Saint Denis any moment and John had decided to wait for Arthur in his room.  He sat on the cot, nervously glancing out the window, and carefully nursing the bottle of whiskey he’d brought with him.  While he wasn’t drunk (and he was being very careful _not_ to get drunk) he didn’t think he could do this completely sober either. 

Days ago Abigail had told him to make a choice.  It hadn’t been an easy one, but he’d made it. He’d already informed Abigail of his decision… now he just needed to talk to Arthur.  John couldn’t say he was looking forward to the discussion. As much as he cared for Arthur, John would be the first to admit that his moods were... unpredictable at best.

John really wasn’t looking forward to getting punched tonight.  But at least the whiskey would help with that too, should it come to that. 

As John took another swig from the bottle he heard the familiar sounds of horses coming up the path outside.  He swallowed hard past the sudden tightness in his throat. His stomach turned into a veritable hornets nest while he listened to the voices outside, quiet in deference to the late hour.  Then finally the sound of footsteps echoed on the old wooden stairs. The door to Arthur’s room swung open, and the older man paused in the doorway upon seeing him, clearly surprised.

Honestly, John was a little stunned as well.  Damn… he looked nice. After he’d helped Arthur shave (and the intense blowjob that had followed) Arthur had kicked him out of his room so he could finish getting ready without distraction.  Now was the first time John had gotten to see Arthur all dressed up nice like this and… it was very distracting.

“John?” Arthur prompted with a raised eyebrow, quietly shutting the door behind him, “You waited for me?”

John could only nod.  Arthur’s grin turned sly.

“I take it you like what you see?” Arthur’s voice dropped an octave, causing a familiar warmth to pool low in John’s belly.

“Oh yeah…” John finally managed, his voice husky in his throat.  Arthur chuckled warmly and crossed the small distance to stand in front of John.  He reached down to take the whiskey from his hands and raised the bottle to his own lips.  Watching the way Arthur’s throat bobbed only reminded John of how his cock had felt down that throat hours earlier.

John forced his eyes down taking in the fine clothes and the way Arthur filled them.  

Arthur was a hard man. A rough man. Life had made him that way. His hands were tough with calluses over a lifetime of hard living, and stained with too much blood to ever be clean.  The lines on his face were deep, despite still being fairly young. In his prime, most would say. His skin was weathered by sun and rain, his muscles tough as granite. What’s more, he had a temper to match his fierce appearance.  Arthur knew how to hurt. How to cause pain. Sometimes he even seemed to enjoy it. There was nothing _soft_ about Arthur Morgan.  At least, not on the outside. 

But as angry and hurtful as Arthur could be, there was also a gentleness to him.  Hidden away, where most people wouldn’t see it. Little things. Only barely glimpsed. Like when Arthur would stop in the street just to pet a stray dog, or give a dollar to a poor blind beggar when everyone else just walked by.  The way he took care of his horse, or sung softly to himself on a long ride. When he helped a stranded woman home safely, even though it was far out of his way. Or the way he was so thoughtful, even sometimes playful, with Jack.  The look in Arthur’s eyes when they were alone together. The way Arthur kissed and touched him as though he were something to be treasured. When Arthur was deep inside him, so intent on giving him pleasure he almost ignored his own…

John loved both sides of Arthur.  The good and the bad. He was under no illusion what kind of man Arthur was.  Just as Arthur knew exactly what kind of man John was. John had just as much blood on his hands.  Had caused just as much pain. John wasn’t good, anymore than Arthur was. They were who they were and neither would even think of asking the other to change.  Arthur used his rough exterior to hide his heart.  Now, it was the opposite. From the fine clothes, to the pomade hair, Arthur was encased in softness, concealing the hardened outlaw he truly was.  The only clue was in his eyes, where danger still lurked in their ever changing depths. While Arthur could be a downright gentleman under the right circumstances now he actually looked the part.  It was strangely appealing.

“I think I smell smoke,” Arthur’s amused voice drew John out of his thoughts and he blinked up at the older man in confusion.

“Huh?”

Arthur laughed.

“You’re thinking pretty hard there.  Don’t hurt yourself,” Arthur teased, stripping off the dinner jacket and throwing carelessly in a corner. 

“Shut up,” John muttered, taking the whiskey bottle back from Arthur and taking another long drink to calm his nerves.  Arthur merely chuckled again and started to unbutton his shirt. Probably intent on getting ready for bed.

John quickly set aside the bottle on a nearby table and stood up, catching Arthur’s hands before he could finish unbuttoning his shirt halfway. 

“Let me,” John offered, looking at Arthur from under his eyelashes. 

Arthur relented easily, letting his hands fall to his sides, and John took over the task of unbuttoning the crisp white shirt.  Slowly exposing more of Arthur’s toned skin he took the opportunity to lean in and nuzzle at the side of Arthur’s throat, while his fingernails lightly scratched through the honey colored dusting of chest hair.  Arthur let out a low rumbling moan in response. One of his hands coming up to comb through John’s hair, holding him in place. John sighed pleasantly. Arthur smelled like soap and a little bit of sweat. Cigar smoke, mingled with some kind of flowery perfume he’d probably picked up from the party somewhere. 

“So, how did it go tonight?” John whispered into his ear, as his thumb found one of Arthur’s nipples and began to circle it slowly.  Teasing the sensitive nub to hardness. Arthur sighed.

“Not too bad.  Dutch and Hosea think they’ve got some leads on some jobs.  One big enough score and we can finally get out of here,” Arthur said distractedly as John’s other hand slid lower to cup his cock through the dress pants.  John looked down while he fondled him gently, watching as Arthur grew hard, slowly tenting the soft material.

“That’s good.  Sooner the better,” John murmured before sucking a mark in the skin just underneath Arthur’s jaw.  Arthur groaned, his hands finding their way to John’s hips as he slowly walked him backwards. But when John felt the back of his knees hit the edge of the cot, he quickly side stepped and shifted their positions,  pushing Arthur down to sit on the cot instead. Arthur looked up at him with a questioning eyebrow raised.

“You got something in mind?” Arthur asked curiously.  John nodded, sliding his hands into Arthur’s open shirt and slowly pushing it down off his broad shoulders. 

“Just… let me take care of you, for once,” John requested. 

Dutch might be their leader, the one always making the grand plans.  But Arthur was the one making sure the day to day shit actually got done.  They all relied on Arthur, perhaps more than they should. When people were hungry, it was usually Arthur riding out and bringing back fresh game.  When someone needed help on a job, it was Arthur they went to, not Dutch, to get it done. It was Arthur who always made sure everyone in the camp had what they needed. Everyone knew he contributed the most to the camp funds, often paying out of his own pocket for things that made everyone’s life in camp a little easier, and asked very little, if anything, for himself.  John was pretty sure the gang would have fallen apart a long time ago without Arthur.  The man wasn’t appreciated nearly enough for his efforts.

For once, he wanted to be the one to take care of Arthur. 

Arthur gave him a curious look now, but he nodded anyway, and allowed John to push him to lay flat on the cot.  John ran his hands appreciatively down the length of Arthur’s chest to the waistband of his trousers, and undid the button easily. 

“Turn over,” he ordered.  Earning him another raised eyebrow from the older man, but Arthur obeyed easily enough, rolling over to his front and pillowing his head on his arms.  John moved to straddle the older man’s legs and the cot creaked under their combined weight. He placed his palms on Arthur’s back and began a slow massage.  Arthur was already pretty relaxed, probably helped along by the liquor. But as John worked Arthur practically melted beneath his hands. A low groan, bordering on a purr, escaped from him as John massaged his way down from his shoulders to his waist. 

Once he felt Arthur was relaxed enough, John leaned forward to press a kiss between Arthur’s shoulder blades, earning him another rumbling moan.  He smiled against Arthur’s warm skin as he mouthed down the older man’s back. His tongue tracing the knobs of his spine, and licking at little dimple at the base of Arthur’s back, just above his trousers. 

“Lift up,” he requested, grasping Arthur’s pants and tugging them down his thighs when the older man raised his hips.  His hands smoothed over the curve of Arthur’s ass and squeezed the firm muscles. John had only done this a handful of times when he was much younger, and at the time he hadn’t enjoyed it.  But his ‘customers’ certainly had, and he figured with Arthur it wouldn’t be so bad. Parting the older man’s cheeks, John licked his way slowly down the crease. Giving Arthur every chance to stop him if he wanted. 

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat, his body tensing more from shock than anything else, when John swiped his tongue lightly over his hole. 

“Fuck,” Arthur hissed through his teeth, his hips lifting, seeking more of the intimate contact.  Pleased by the reaction, John got to work teasing around the sensitive skin with playful licks. Coaxing the tight muscles to relax.  Arthur couldn’t seem to stop squirming, forcing John to hold him down harder to keep him still.

Arthur’s breath grew increasingly labored as he kept trying to shove his ass back against John’s face.  John took the hint and pushed his tongue into the tight hole, swirling it around inside. Arthur responded with an even louder moan.  Too loud really. The last thing they needed was to wake the whole damned camp while they were doing this. Arthur buried his face into pillow, muffling his groans of pleasure, but his muscles still trembled beneath John’s hands, betraying how much he was enjoying this.

In turn, John was surprised just how worked up he was getting from doing this for Arthur.  When he lifted his head, taking a moment to breathe and calm himself. Arthur honest to god whined.

“Christ, Arthur… can I fuck you?”

“You better, you goddamn tease,” Arthur groaned in response.  John wasted no time fumbling for the familiar tin of grease, exactly where they’d left it on the bedside table a few nights prior.  He slicked his fingers and slowly pushed one inside of Arthur. Already relaxed and wet with spit, it slid in easily past the second knuckle with practically no resistance.  Arthur groaned in frustration, and shifted restlessly.

While John was determined to take his time with this, he couldn’t resist immediately pressing a second finger into the older man.  Arthur felt incredibly tight around his fingers and it made John wonder if he’d even done this with anyone else since they were first together all those years ago.  A jealous possessive part of John hoped he hadn’t, but he knew better than to ask. Instead he leaned down to lick around the stretched hole while he pushed his fingers in and out of Arthur slowly.  Loving the way Arthur’s breath hitched when John found his sweet spot. When John spread his fingers, stretching Arthur even wider, and pushed his tongue in alongside them, the older man keened.

“John… John now… I need… fuck…” Arthur sounded absolutely wrecked, shaking and sweating as he looked back to John with pleading eyes.  It undid something within John and he couldn’t have said no even if he wanted to.

John didn’t think he’d ever gotten his pants off quicker in his life, even if he nearly tripped himself while doing so, earning him a breathless laugh from the gorgeous man sprawled out waiting for him.  He gave Arthur’s ass a playful slap in retaliation, before straddling his lover’s hips once again and lining himself up. Pushing himself inside Arthur again after all this time felt like coming home.

“Fuck… Arthur…” John whispered, draping himself over the older man’s broad back.  Arthur grunted softly under the weight, but he didn’t protest. John closed his eyes and kissed the side of Arthur’s neck as he buried himself to the hilt and rolled his hips, “You feel so good…”

Arthur groaned, trying to push back against him even though John had him effectively pinned.

“God damn it… move damn you…” Arthur finally hissed.  John laughed breathlessly, but he obeyed. Bracing his hands on either side of Arthur, he began with slow, shallow, thrusts.  Barely drawing out at all before pushing himself back in as deep as he could. His position forcing the head of his cock to rub constantly against Arthur’s prostate in a near torturous tease for the both of them. 

But John didn’t want this over quickly.  Not this time.

Arthur put up with it for far longer than John would have expected.  Though his verbal complaints of ‘ _faster’_ and ‘ _harder god damn it’_ grew increasingly impatient and demanding the longer John kept up the slow steady pace.  Eventually Arthur snapped, and the older man took matters into his own hands. John was plenty strong, but Arthur proved he was stronger when he shoved up from the bed unexpectedly, almost knocking John clean off the cot onto the floor in the process. 

“I warned ya,” Arthur all but growled, and John yelped when he suddenly found himself flat on his back on the cot, Arthur now looming over him with a determined look on his face.  But John didn’t have time to even think of protesting, when Arthur suddenly sheathed himself back on his cock and began to ride him for all he was worth.

It was a breathtaking sight.  Arthur's straining muscles sweating as he bounced on John’s lap.  His cock so flushed and hard it was nearly purple, and leaking precum onto John’s stomach.  His eyes so intense John felt like he would be set aflame at any moment.

Unable to do anything else, John grasped Arthur’s hips, and braced his feet against the cot so he could thrust up into the older man.  Matching the now frantic pace that Arthur had set.  Every time Arthur’s ass came down hard against his pelvis, it felt like the air was punched from his lungs. His nails dug so deeply into Arthur’s skin it was sure to leave marks.

“Arthur…” John whispered, his voice almost reverent.  Nothing could have been more perfect about the moment… so of course he had to go and ruin it, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm sorry for leaving it there... 
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to everyone who has been reading this fic, and was nice enough to leave feedback the last time. You have no idea how much it means, and sorry for my massive insecurities.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been a long day and Arthur was tired.  While attending the stupid party at the Mayor’s home wasn’t as physically demanding as he was used to, it had still been exhausting in its own way.  He’d been more than ready to fall into bed upon returning to the camp.

But as ready as he was for sleep he certainly wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity for a quick fuck before hand.  After two long years of trying to deny how much he still wanted John Marston, Arthur probably wouldn’t have turned down anything the younger man was willing to give him.  Christ, he still couldn’t believe John had stuck his tongue up his ass! That was utterly _filthy_ , but it had felt _amazing_.  He probably wouldn’t mind returning the favor sometime down the road…

As tired as he was, and distracted by the effort of chasing down his orgasm by fucking himself on Marston’s cock, he almost missed John’s soft confession.  Almost. He might have even dismissed the words entirely as a figment of his imagination, if John’s expression hadn’t suddenly shifted from bliss to near panic.  John apparently having realized what he’d said at the same time as Arthur.

He froze as a mess of emotions slammed through him so fast he had no hope of untangling one from the other.  So Arthur did the only thing he could. He laughed. A sound so abrupt and sharp it had to cut by the quick flash of pain that flashed in John’s eyes upon hearing it.  Arthur pretended not to notice.

“Just how drunk are you, Marston?” he joked.  An attempt to soften the blow of his reaction, and a clear dismissal of the words themselves. People often said dumb things when they were getting ready to come.  This was no different. He’d expected John to laugh it off as well. He wasn’t expecting John’s expression to shift from surprised to hurt.

“I ain’t drunk…” John finally muttered almost too softly for Arthur to hear.  God, Arthur hated it when John acted like a kicked puppy. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with this right now.

“Sure, whatever,” Arthur scoffed.  Trying to get back to what they’d been doing.  Since it had been pretty good up until that point.  But even as he rolled his hips and started fucking himself again on the hard dick inside him, John still had that wounded look.  It was really starting to kill the mood.

“Arthur, wait…” John started, tightening his hold on Arthur’s hips, attempting to still him.  Arthur growled under his breath, and clenched his inner muscles around John so tightly the younger man gasped.  But at least some of the heat was returning to John’s eyes as Arthur continued to move on his cock.

“Christ, Marston.  Are you going to fuck me or make me do all the work?” Arthur demanded, and that finally seemed to snap John out of his mood.  The younger man’s expression suddenly turned determined, and he reached up to grab a handful of Arthur’s hair. Practically yanking him down, forcing Arthur to brace his hands on either side of John’s body for support, while the younger man kissed him ruthlessly.  Biting at his lips and forcing his tongue inside, just as he snapped his hips up hard, impaling Arthur completely. Arthur moaned in approval, grinding down to meet John’s almost punishing thrusts.

He was definitely going to be feeling this tomorrow, and he loved every minute of it. 

Arthur was already pretty damned close when he decided to reach between their bodies to grasp his own cock, only to have John knock his hand away.  He grunted in complaint, but he didn’t try to touch himself again. If that’s how Marston wanted to play it…

Suddenly the younger man shifted, tipping Arthur to the side.  The cot really wasn’t wide or strong enough for the strain they were putting on it, but somehow he managed not to end up on the floor as John reversed their positions yet again.  Shoving Arthur’s knees practically to his chest before fucking back into him without giving him much time to adjust. Arthur wasn’t all that flexible, but the burn in his muscles only added to the pleasure. 

Arthur gripped John’s back tightly, his head tipping back, and his eyes drifting shut.  Encouraging the younger man with a constant stream of grunts and soft moans as John shifted inside of him, finding just the right angle.  Fuck, he might be able to come just from this if John kept it up…

“I meant it,” John whispered, his breath coming out in sharp pants.  Arthur slit his eyes open, gasping in time to the harsh slap of John’s hips against his ass. 

“What…”

“I meant what I said, Arthur,” John said, louder, punctuating his words with a particularly deep thrust that almost made Arthur see stars. 

“Fuck…” Arthur cursed, gritting his teeth, his blunt nails biting crescent moons into John’s lower back, “Just… shut the fuck up, John…”

Arthur couldn’t say anything more, as John took that opportunity to wrap a hand around his aching cock.  Arthur groaned as John swirled his thumb around the blunt head and spread the leaking fluids down the length of the shaft.  The light touch was almost agony.  Arthur’s stomach clenched and his balls tightened. He was right on the edge, and John knew it.

“I meant it,” John repeated, stroking and twisting his hand around his cock on the upstroke. 

“God damn it… no you don’t…” Arthur gasped, his voice trembling. 

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

“Damn you,” Arthur hissed, just as his orgasm ripped through him with the force of a steam engine, painting his trembling stomach and John’s hand with thick ropes of cum.  John continued to move inside him, drawing the pleasure out till the very end, leaving Arthur a shaking mess. Then finally spilling deep inside him with a soft broken sound.

Arthur laid there gasping like a fish stranded on shore for several moments before he shoved hard at John with a low growl. 

“Get the fuck off me.”

To his credit, John obeyed immediately.  Pulling out of him and shifting back when Arthur shoved himself up even though John must have still been shaky himself from his orgasm.  Arthur sat on the edge of the cot, not trusting his legs to take him anywhere for the moment, and trying to get his breathing back under control.  His fingers clenched at the edge of the frame tight enough his knuckles turned white. It was all he could do not to take a swing at the younger man.

“Arthur…” John said softly, as though he might try calming a spooked animal.  Arthur growled again in response.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?!”

He saw John flinch out of the corner of his eye. 

“It’s true, Arthur.  You can deny it if you want, but it won’t make it any less true,” John said, moving to sit on the edge of the cot as well.  Not close enough to touch, but closer than Arthur wanted right now. At least, that’s what he told himself, though he didn’t tell the younger man to get away either.  Arthur laughed bitterly, and shot John a look full of daggers.

“And how do you think your god damn _family_ will feel about that, huh?”

To his surprise, John actually chuckled. 

“Abigail already knows, Arthur.  Hell, she probably knew it even before I did.  She came to me. Told me I needed to make a choice… so I made it.  She understands,” John explained calmly. Way too calmly.  Arthur shook his head, wanting to deny it… but John had always been a shit liar.  Had too many god damned tells. But right now, Arthur couldn’t find a one…

“I’m choosing you, Arthur.  I already talked with Abigail.  We agreed.  After whatever job Dutch is planning in Saint Denis, I’m giving her my share so she can start a new life with Jack somewhere else.  Away from all this. They deserve that,” John continued. Arthur didn’t know what to think anymore. His mind had gone completely blank even as his heart continued to race. 

No one ever chose him.  No one…

John reached out to carefully take one of his hands.  Arthur ripped it away as though John had burned him.

“No.  Get the fuck out of here.  Go back to your goddamn family where you belong,” Arthur demanded, rising and pacing away from the other man.  He snatched up a pair of trousers from the floor and started to put them on. Giving him a means of escaping the room should he need to. 

“Arthur, please…”

“Are you listening to me!  Get the hell out of here!” Arthur shouted.  Much too loudly, but he didn’t care at the moment as he whirled on the younger man, his fists clenched at his sides.  John wisely stood just out of his reach.

“What the hell are you so afraid of?” John demanded, sounding concerned and a little afraid himself right now. 

“I _told_ you not to make this something it wasn’t!  Now you go and do something stupid like this…” 

“Fine! Tell me you don’t love me, then, and I’ll leave.  You’ll never see me again,” John shot back, and the simple words drove a spike of fear through Arthur’s heart.  The thought of never seeing John again, never being able to touch or hold him, paralyzed him… and the lie stuck in his throat like jagged glass.  Instead Arthur turned away from the younger man, shoving his hands through his hair in frustration.

“You’ve got no idea… no goddamn idea…” he muttered, almost to himself.  He needed to make the idiot understand he was making the wrong choice. But how could he when a small selfish part of him _wanted_ John to choose him. 

John had the nerve to actually laugh at his words.

“No idea of what, exactly?  What kind of man you are? I know exactly who you are, Arthur Morgan.  I’ve known you for most of my damn life,” John said softly, coming up behind Arthur to place his hands on his shaking shoulders.

“Abigail…” Arthur tried to protest anyway, because he had to.  Because as much as he might secretly want this, he knew how wrong it was.  John was making the wrong choice, damn it. No matter what he thought. Abigail could give John something Arthur never could.  A chance at a normal life, away from all this shit. A real family.  Away from all this death… Who the hell in their right mind would ever choose this, when there was another option?

“Arthur… I'll never be able to give Abigail what she really wants.  Well… maybe I could… but it wouldn't be the real me.  It would be a lie. She deserves better than that… and I’m tired of hiding, Arthur,” John replied softly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Arthur’s neck.  The younger man wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, and Arthur allowed it against his better judgement.

“I ain’t asking you to change.  I never would. Just like I know you wouldn’t ask me to change.  But maybe… after this thing in Saint Denis… we can leave too. Go somewhere else. Together. This thing with Dutch… I don’t see it ever ending. I’ve been in this gang for over ten damn years.  You’ve been in even longer. All this time, and we’re no closer to Dutch’s grand plan. I don’t think we ever will be…”

“John…”

“Just… think about it.  Please?”

Arthur shut his eyes, covering one of John’s hands with his own.  The younger man slotted their fingers together and he squeezed them gently.

“Alright… I’ll think about it…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hope it was worth the wait. Sorry again for that last cliffhanger. More will be coming soon... but I really need to finish a Christmas fic I promised someone first. Thanks again for reading :) You all are great.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving kudos. If you didn't, please consider letting me know why, so I can improve my writing overall. Thank you :)


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